


a grand(e) kind of love

by kay_emm_gee



Series: Hands In, Aca-Bitches! [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Music, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Pining, a capella
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-02 07:22:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6557146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay_emm_gee/pseuds/kay_emm_gee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>College was built for hook-ups and one-night stands. Clarke never really had minded that, and besides, it was supposed to be a one-time thing with Bellamy, just to get him out of her system. The problem is, it was indeed only a one-time thing, and that fact bothers her more than she likes. The more time passes--and the further he gets from her--the more she wants him, and she has no damn idea what to do about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i got one less problem without you

**Author's Note:**

> A companion piece to 'and i won't miss the way that you kiss me', the previous fic in this series. It will help if you read that before this one (also, note that I've now in both fics adjusted Clarke's year to junior, not senior as it was originally in that fic for consistency's sake). 
> 
> All chapters in this story inspired by Ariana Grande songs.

Clarke shifted on the hard wooden floor of the small practice room, turning towards the other girls. Harper had her head on Monroe’s stomach, laughing as Monroe inflated and deflated her belly over and over again to jostle her. Octavia was sitting up, leaning against the piano. She and Caris--who was lying on the instrument’s bench--were arguing over which Taylor Swift album was the best one, and Fox was on her phone with her earphones in, knees propped up and foot jiggling to whatever beat she was listening to.

Niylah nudged Clarke’s foot. “We should get started, yeah?”

She smiled at her co-director. “Five more minutes?”

Rolling her eyes, Niylah started to unfold her crossed legs to stand. “Two minutes. Then get your ass off the floor.”

As soon as Niylah started shifting, however, the other girls started to move too. Drawn out of their own little worlds, they started to chat more, the whole group chiming in about the upcoming homecoming weekend. They would be performing at a sampler for the visiting parents and alumni--along with the Waldentones and other campus a capella groups--and they needed to finish their centerpiece song soon. Otherwise, she’d never hear the end of it from Wells. Ever since freshman year, they had kept up a friendly competition of outperforming each other. Clarke wasn’t about to let her first performance as the Ark’n’Sass director fall flat.

“Alright, circle up,” she announced, hauling herself off the practice room floor. “We got some decisions to make.”

They had narrowed their choices down to a few Adele songs, Vance Joy’s Riptide, and Problem by Ariana Grande. After twenty minutes of debating--and Octavia distracted by texting--they had a group tie between Riptide and Problem.

“Let’s split our time today,” Niylah offered, loudly cutting off Monroe and Caris from starting their debate again. “We’ll practice both and then get an impartial judge to vote.”

“Who is gonna judge?” Harper asked, and Niylah shot Clarke a look.

“We’ll figure it out later,” Clarke covered for her. “We should just get to work before it gets too late.”

The remaining hour was spent tweaking the prepared arrangements for the final two song choices, and by the end of their extended practice, Clarke was feeling tired but satisfied they had two very good options to choose from. If she was being honest, Problem would be a more engaging performance piece for the audience but she was also a little bit biased since she was the soloist for that one.

“So who _are_ we going to have judge?” Niylah asked under her breath as the girls laughed between gulps of water.

“I could always drag Wells and his boys out from their practice.”

Her co-director scrunched her nose at that suggestion, and Clarke sighed. It probably wasn’t the best idea to have their unofficial competitors have a say in their performance choice.

“Just Wells maybe?” Clarke tried as she racked her brains for an option. There weren’t many people in the music building at this time of weekday night aside from other student groups practicing.

“I have an idea.”

Clarke and Niylah both turned warily to see Octavia walking up to them with a grin. “My brother is meeting me to go grab ice cream after practice. He’ll be here in a few. I can make him be our judge.”

Clenching her jaw, Clarke turned to her co-director. Niylah was going to have to be the one to answer that question because her reaction was to say no immediately. She couldn’t really see Bellamy as anything other than the dick who had TA’d her art history class last spring and constantly dragged her during study sessions for focusing on the art over the history.

“It’s not called _Intro to Historical Art_ , Clarke. It’s _Intro to Art History_ ,” he’d always say in a smug, exasperated tone every time she came to argue with him about his bright red aggressively extensive edits on her essay drafts she was required to pass into him to review.

It didn’t help that at the start of this fall he had constantly interrupted their one-week musicals practices to glower at his sister as she flirted with Lincoln. One day he even started a very loud argument with Octavia right in the aisle. That time Clarke had kicked them both out of the theater, and he had been even more obnoxious towards her since then. He glared at her when she passed him in the library or the campus quad, and she just lifted her chin and ignored him. He was an ass, and there was no way she could in good conscience let him into this space. Singing was her refuge and she’d be damned if he ruined that for her.

Still, they did need a judge.

“He’s not just going to side with your song choice?” Niylah asked.

“He doesn’t even know what our choices are. See?” Octavia held out her phone, screen out. “I just said to come into the room and find me when he got here.”

Actually, what Octavia said was _come find me in bixler 245 loser_ to which Bellamy had responded _okay monkey_ with a smug smiley face that had been followed by a series of red angry faces from Octavia.

“He knows I hate that nickname,” she grumbled, pulling the phone away with slightly red cheeks.

“Okay. So he’s probably going to be impartial,” Niylah admitted. She flicked a glance at Clarke. “Sounds like a good option.”

Clarke took a deep breath and nodded. “Alright. He can judge since he’s our only option.”

Four sips of water later and the door cracked open. Bellamy stuck his head inside, brow pinched as he scanned for Octavia. His gaze halted when it met hers, and he raised an eyebrow in question before looking on.

Clarke rolled her eyes and took another large gulp from her water bottle. As she licked her lips dry, Octavia was informing Bellamy of their request. He frowned as his sister towed him over to the piano bench.

“It’ll take five minutes,” she wheedled.

“O, seriously--”

“I’ll let you pay for my ice cream tonight if you do this.”

Surprisingly, that seemed to be something that made Bellamy pause. From the corner of her eye, Clarke watched his jaw muscle flex while he considered it.

“Fine,” he said with a shrug. “I’ll be your deciding vote.”

With a wide satisfied grin, Octavia spun around and scampered into her place as everyone fell into place for their Riptide arrangement. Even as Clarke pulled the tuner out of her pocket to prep them, she didn’t feel the usual peace settle over her that did when she performed, even for an audience of one. Instead she felt jumpy, and her skin prickled with the awareness of Bellamy watching them. It only grew worse when it came time for Problem. She stepped up to the front, feeling oddly exposed as Niylah guided the girls into the correct key.

To avoid looking at Bellamy directly, she instead stared at a point on the wall right above his head of messy curls. Her cheeks burned as the first line slipped from her lips ( _hey baby even though i hate you, i wanna love you_ ). The frustration welling up in her needed to be put to productive use, so she boosted her volume more than usual. The girls caught onto her energy quickly, and she couldn’t help smiling. Then she caught Bellamy nodding his head slightly to the beat and it almost cost her her focus. So instead, she tried to imagine the audience of middle-aged listeners they’d be facing in a few weeks time instead of the arrogant grad student sprawling back onto the piano in front of them.

Clarke made it through most of the second verse without meeting his eye, but as it drew to a close and she sang--

_i shouldn’t want it (but it’s you-ou-ou)_

_\--_ her chin dropped and their gazes connected. Her breath caught as he leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees but not breaking their stare. Luckily Harper, Fox, and Caris jumped in to be her backup on the transition to the chorus as they were supposed to and Clarke was able to join in again after a few beats. She ignored the way Bellamy’s eyebrows rose in surprise; he clearly hadn’t missed her faltering.

It was a relief when Monroe stepped forward and began tearing into the bridge (it really was incredible how fast that girl spin the words even from the first _smart money_ ). Softly Clarke hummed along to the background melody, letting her voice rest before the final stretch.

Soon enough, though, Monroe was wiggling back into place and Clarke had to move up to fill the center once again. They finished in a flash, and it was only when she and the girls all came together on the last high note that she risked another glance at Bellamy.

Surprisingly, his expression was thoughtful. Clarke had expected dismissive or bored, but instead it actually look like he _cared_. Neither did she miss the way his features softened with fondness when he looked at Octavia and how she threw back her head in laughter at the way Monroe and Harper were leaning back-to-back and doing excessive jazz hands in their final pose.

“So, Bell, what did you think?” Octavia asked excitedly as she sashayed towards her brother.

As soon as Bellamy started talking, Clarke had to work to keep her lips from parting in surprise. His comments were insightful, sharp, and demonstrated a very intimate background with music. It was something she hadn’t expected, and it threw her. When he announced his assessment by suggesting they do Problem for the homecoming sampler, she bit back the knee-jerk urge to suddenly want to perform Riptide instead. He was right and she hated that; she hated even more than she agreed so far not just with his compliments but his critiques.

“So, yeah, Problem is the one to do,” he concluded. “As long as the solo isn’t so pitchy, it’ll sound great with the church’s acoustics.”

“Pitchy?” Clarke demanded. “I wasn’t pitchy.”

“You were a little pitchy.”

“Pitchy--you sure you don’t mean something else?” She snapped.

He rolled his eyes. “You stopped monitoring your breathing after the first verse and so you were pitchy during the first chorus.”

“I wasn’t!”

“You’re arguing with me because you know I’m right.”

“Just like you were ‘right’ about the symbolism of that tree in--”

“I was right! Huber wouldn’t know symbolism if he--”

“Alright,” Octavia interrupted with exasperated glances at the both of them. “Enough. Niylah, we’re doing Problem, right?”

Clarke crossed her arms over her chest. Even as she felt Niylah looking to her for confirmation, she couldn’t stop glaring at Bellamy. He was glaring right back, shoulders having tensely risen during their argument.

Niylah made a questioning noise directed at her, so Clarke replied, “Yeah, we’re doing Problem even if I am _pitchy_.”

Bellamy opened his mouth to comment but Octavia flicked him in the forehead. “C’mon. We gotta get going before Jorgenson’s closes.”

He hesitated but then rose and followed her to where her backpack was. Clarke didn’t relax until his broad frame disappeared into the hall. It was only then that she tuned into what the other younger girls were giggling about across the room.

“Impartial party my ass,” Monroe muttered as she threw things into her bag.

Fox replied with a giggle, “Did you see the way he was looking at her? Holy shit that was hot.”

“I bet they’re having hate sex,” Harper snickered.

Clarke nearly choked, and the sound drew their attention. Their efforts to pack up hastened by a hundredfold and before she even said a word, they were scurrying out of the room.

Not once had she ever thought of Bellamy in the context that type of relationship. Now, though, as she walked through the starlight campus pathways back to her dorm, she couldn’t stop picturing greedily discarded clothes and large demanding hands on her hips and the way his freckles would look when she was close enough to bite or kiss his lips.

Groaning, she flopped into bed and cursed the girls for ever putting such a jarring thought into her head.

 _That’ll happen when hell freezes over_ , she finally decided right before she drifted off to sleep, her stomach dropping as she felt something that could almost be called disappointment.


	2. the part when i say i don't want it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was just supposed to be a one night stand. They were just supposed to have a few hours of bruising kisses, raking nails, and snapping hips. She wasn’t supposed to want him still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: You sorta need read the previous fic in this series (and i won't miss the way that you kiss me) for this part to make any real sense just fyi!
> 
> Inspired by 'Break Free'

She could still feel the phantom touch of a hand--his hand--on her arm as she walked away from the bar. The chilliness of the two beers in her hands numbed her palms, but the rest of her felt warm and electrified. It had nothing to do with the sweaty crush of people in The Factory; very unfortunately, it had everything to do with how close she had just been to Bellamy.

And not just how close she had been to him, but how close she had been to giving in to the fantasies that plagued her during lulls in class and late nights. Fantasies of grabbing his face and kissing away the smug smirk always hovering at the corners of his mouth. Daydreams of dragging him into one of the music building storage closets, stripping him down and falling to her knees so she could make him moan again like she had that one night a few weeks ago. There was rarely a night now where she didn’t fall asleep to the imagined brush of his lips on her neck and push of his fingers into her wet heat.

It was fucking annoying. He was just supposed to be a one night stand. They were just supposed to have a few hours of bruising kisses, raking nails, and snapping hips. She wasn’t supposed to _want_ him still. Yet here she was, standing in the middle of the most popular campus bar, unable to keep her attention on her friends because she kept sneaking glances across the room to stare at Bellamy.

“You wanna find a table?” Niylah shouted, her face narrowing in concern. “You look--”

“I’m fine!” Clarke called back over the pop-rock beat. “It’s just really hot in here.”

To make her point, she swept her curls up off her neck with one hand, pressing the cold bottle of Bud against her neck. The wetness of the condensation actually helped, and she didn’t miss the way Niylah watched with interest nor the way her gaze dipped quickly to the low-cut collar of her top.

“You wanna get some air?” Her co-director asked with a smile.

Something pulled tight in Clarke’s chest, a nagging feeling, but she ignored it in favor of the way warmth pooled low in her gut. She let the crowd nudge her closer to Niylah. Tipping her head up, she smirked and said, “No. I wanna dance.”

Niylah rolled her eyes, but there was a glint of interest there too. With a bright grin, Clarke grabbed her wrist and towed her towards the crowded, writhing dance floor. She whooped as a fast-paced girl-power anthem came on, beginning to rock her head and swing her hips to the familiar beat. Joining in, Niylah raised her beer over her head and swiveled closer to Clarke until they were a breath away.

As the song grew in power and energy, they continued toying with each other--a sly glance here, a not-so-accidental brush of fingers there. Finally, she finished off the last of her beer, and after letting the empty bottle drop to the floor, she threw her arms around Niylah’s neck with an inviting smile. In the second before their mouths pressed together, Clarke vaguely remembered that hooking up with her co-director was probably the worst decision she could make. Then she felt the warmth of the kiss, and how Niylah fit so well against her, and she stopped caring about anything other than the haze of pleasure she got from kissing and feeling their hips roll together to the pounding music and heartbeats around them.

When the song ended, and they were both breathless from more then just dancing, Clarke asked, “You wanna go back to my room?”

Niylah bit her lip and nodded, and Clarke smiled. This was what she needed, to lose herself in something that was heady but not addictive. She needed to not think for a night, to just feel, nothing else. And so she clasped Niylah’s wrist again to lead her out of the bar and somewhere to forget anything other than the person right in front of her.


	3. i need to be the one that takes you home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke continues to have feelings. Clarke continues to deal with them poorly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by 'One Last Time'

**_i._ **

“Octavia,” Clarke groaned, glaring at her from across their half-circle. This was the sixth time her phone had loudly chimed during rehearsal. It kept throwing them off rhythm, and she had finally had enough.

“Sorry,” Octavia said meekly with a shrug. “Blame my brother. Probably.”

“Silence it?” Niylah cut in calmly. “We really need to get through this arrangement before we break for the night.”

“I just gotta answer him real quick and then he’ll shut up,” Octavia wheedled, and Clarke nodded.

The girls stood patiently while Octavia jogged over to her bag and dug out her phone. Niylah took the opportunity to chat with Fox and Caris about their upcoming solos, and Clarke took the opportunity to watch Octavia. As she listened to her voicemail, her eyes lit up and a mischievous grin spread across her face. When it finished, she texted furiously, bouncing up and down a little bit before chucking her phone onto her bag and coming back over.

“All set?” Niylah asked.

“Apparently my brother had to cancel our usual post-practice ice cream date because he has an _actual_ date. With an actual girl he’s actually into,” she exclaimed in a gleeful tone. “I just needed to let him off the hook. So yeah, all set.”

There was a brief pause where Clarke felt they were all looking at her, and a chill went through her at the thought of her shock written clearly across her face. Then Niylah cocked her head in confusion and Clarke let out a sigh of relief. They were just waiting for her to tune them in. Quickly she fumbled for the device, managing to start them off with a steady note despite the turmoil stirring inside her.

She knew the arrangement so well that the melody came to her easily, which was just as well because her mind was elsewhere completely.

_He’s going on a date he’s going on a date he’s going on a date he’s going on a date._

It was just a date, one date. It shouldn’t make her feel anything, but somehow instead it felt like the end of everything.

* * *

**_ii._ **

Clarke was drunk and stumbling through the student center in high heels when she saw them. Her shoes scrabbled against the rough, burnt orange tile as she stared. Raven laughed at her clumsiness. Thudding in her chest, her heart squeezed tightly, painfully at seeing Bellamy laughing and smiling at the short brunette--Gina, no doubt--sitting across from him at table just inside The Grill area. The girl flipped him off then stole a handful of fries from his basket.

It’s something she would do, and Clarke felt her throat start to ache. She looked away just as Bellamy reached over to swipe a bit of salt and grease from Gina’s lips.

“Shots when we get to Monroe’s?” She asked as she scurried up to Raven’s side. The sting of alcohol was just what she needed to burn away the jealousy writhing in her gut.

“Wells wasn’t kidding when he said you go hard,” Raven laughed. “And hell yeah.”

Clarke shrugged and slung her arm around the girl’s shoulders as they pushed out into the cool night. The air was bracing, sharp and biting on her flushed cheeks. She relished it, because that type of pain was so much easier to deal with than the other kind she was battling tonight.

* * *

**_iii._ **

A month was apparently the amount of time one needed to be dating before bringing a significant other to a sibling’s a capella performance.

This wasn’t what Clarke should be thinking about as she sat in the campus church, waiting for Ark’N’Sass to leave the pews and take their place on the dais to perform in the start-of-spring-semester sampler. She should be thinking about Maya, their newest member, and how she’ll do in her first performance with them; she should be thinking about how the transition to the chorus in their second song always tripped her up.

Instead, she was thinking of how Bellamy had his arm around Gina a few rows back. They looked cute together, she had to admit. Still, it made her feel a little bit nauseous when she thought of how she’d be facing them head on as soon as the Waldentones finished their number.

Thankfully, though, she made it through their two numbers without any awkward eye contact or missed notes from not being able to breathe from the sight of him with someone else. As applause filled the room to the rafters when they finished, Clarke smiled. She even managed to think that she might be able to handle going out with the girls afterwards even though Bellamy and Gina were sure to tag along.

As soon as she saw them walking up hand-in-hand to congratulate Octavia, however, she faltered.

“You’re not coming out?” Harper asked quietly when she noticed Clarke pulling away from their giggling group to grab her coat and purse.

“Headache,” Clarke lied, furrowing her brow to further her fib.

Harper made a sympathetic face and squeezed her arm. “Rest up, cap.”

She managed to flash a weak smile in response before slipping away down the side aisle, running from something she couldn’t even put a name to.

* * *

**_iv._ **

Beer pong wasn’t Clarke’s first choice for a drinking game--she preferred flip cup--but Raven desperately wanted to trounce Murphy and Mbege and she needed a distraction. So she turned her focus to red solo cups and trash talking over the music pounding from the speakers on the walls of the Alpha Rho Kappa frat house from her previous activity of watching Bellamy from the corner of her eye.

The universe was fucking with her, she was certain. What were the chances of a graduate student showing up at a frat party? There was a reason she had been spending most of her weekends in dorm rooms and frat houses instead of the bars; she was less likely to run into him. Yet here she was, and here he was, in the same goddamn room filled with the doughy smell of cheap beer and the musky scent of pot in the air.

Miller was apparently an alumnus of Alpha Rho and came here frequently on weekends, which was news to her. This time he had dragged Bellamy along, though he didn’t appear to be enjoying himself. Clarke tried to ignore the fact that Gina wasn’t around and the nagging feeling that his frown was because he was spending a night away from his girlfriend.

She took another large sip of beer at the thought so she was filled with hops and booze instead of sinking disappointment and something much more bitter.

“You gonna shoot, Griffin, or should we count this as forfeit right now?” Murphy taunted from across the table.

“Fuck off,” she retorted before launching the ball. It plopped right into the third-to-last cup, sending up drops of beer that landed on Mbege’s shirt. Raven whooped, and Clarke high-fived her grinning when prompted.

“You gonna shoot, or should we count this as forfeit?” Raven echoed in a triumphant, sing-song voice.

Mbege flipped her off before taking his turn; he missed, but Murphy made it in. They were still two cups behind them, though, which went up to three when Raven made her next throw. Two turns later, they both sunk the last cup.

“Rematch?” Murphy challenged.

Raven grinned and shook her head. “I’ve embarrassed you enough for tonight. I know to quit while I’m ahead.”

Instead, she tugged Clarke to the dance floor for short victory dance break in celebration. Clarke took the opportunity away from the table to scan the room-- _not_ for Bellamy, she told herself. She still felt a surge of emptiness when she couldn’t find him lurking in the corners anymore.

After two more songs, Wells showed up and with Raven newly distracted, Clarke slipped away into the kitchen. Just to get another drink, that was all, she convinced herself.

A thrill went through her while she was standing in line for the keg and saw Bellamy outside on the porch. Noticing the liquor bottle next to him on the railing, she left her place to go join him.

The porch wasn’t empty by any means. Some younger girls in short skirts and high heels were squished together on the stained couch, gossiping and shrieking in laughter. A few of the Alpha Rho brothers were smoking in the corner, eyes glazed over from the high. Bellamy was by himself, a little out of the way, shoulders hunched as he leaned on the railing and stared out into the empty yard.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Clarke said as she sidled up to him.

Bellamy looked surprised for half a second before an impassive expression slid across his face. “All I’ve got is vodka.”

“A shot, then,” she teased. It was a little chilly out, so she told herself it was only natural that she put herself so close to him when she leaned back against the railing.

Without argument, he poured a minimal amount of liquor into the plastic shot glass near his elbow. Though she raised her eyebrows at the scant volume, she took it anyways. It went down smoothly, which was a surprise.

“Only the best for the Alpha Rho brothers,” Bellamy commented dryly.

“It’s good to know someone on the inside,” she agreed. “Miller must trust you if he showed you where the good booze was.”

He snorted. “Not so much trust as pity.”

“Why?”

He tensed and didn’t reply.

“I’ve taken a shot. I need a thought in return,” she accused lightly.

“Shitty night.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Clarke held out the shot glass out. He hesitated a minute before pouring her another, more generous this time. It didn’t go down as pleasantly this time, but she mustered through. Her need to know what was bothering him outweighed the aversion to the burn the liquor made as it slid down her throat.

“You really don’t want to hear about my shitty night,” he warned.

She frowned. “Are you reneging?”

Instead of replying, he quickly poured and took a shot of his own. “There. I took a penalty.”

Before she could argue that wasn’t how it worked, his phone, which was also sitting on the railing, lit up. Gina’s smiling face made Clarke’s stomach twist painfully; she didn’t have the decency to move away and give him a chance to answer the call. Surprisingly, though, he scowled and hit ignore.

Immediately the phone lit up again. He hit ignore again, mouth pinching in anger and resolutely not looking at the phone or her. It didn’t take her much longer to figure out they must be fighting, and she hated the small bit of hope that bubbled up in her. Without thinking, she took the bottle, poured him a shot, and placed it carefully on top of the phone.

When he looked at her warily, she shrugged. “You did say you were having a shitty night.”

With a grimace, he nodded, then took the offering. She watched his Adam’s apple bob as the liquor went down, her gaze drifting down to his broad shoulders and the faint dusting of freckles that she had mapped with her fingers and then her mouth months ago. A shiver ran through her, and it had nothing to do with the breeze occasionally blowing around them.

“You owe me a thought,” he murmured as he flipped over his phone.

“I’m convinced that I was your favorite art history student.”

He laughed once, a little bit incredulous.

“Come on,” she teased, bumping his arm with her shoulder. “No one in that class gave a fuck about the material except for me. You were _lucky_ that I was invested enough to call you out on your bullshit.”

“You were a stubborn pain in my ass,” he shot back. “And wrong a lot of the time even if you wouldn’t admit it.”

“You liked arguing with me. Tell me I’m wrong.”

Though she saw him trying to fight it, a smile started at the corners of his mouth. “You’re wrong.”

“New rule: you lie, you take a shot.”

He chuckled but then reached for the bottle. This time he only poured half a shot, which she didn’t argue with. Her head was starting to feel light, and a pleasant warm numbness was starting to spread through her limbs. He had been drinking before she joined him, so he must be feeling it too.

Then, though, he took her off guard by immediately pouring another full serving and downing it quickly.

“What was that for?” She demanded.

“Give me a thought,” he murmured, and Clarke tried to keep her breathing even as he stared at her intensely.

She wished she was imagining it, but his gaze flicked to his lips. This was what she wanted--his interest--but she hadn’t wanted it quite like this. He cleared his throat, prompting her to answer.

“You should call Gina back,” she said quickly, quietly. His brow furrowed, but as he straightened, about to respond, she moved off the railing.

“Call your girlfriend, Bellamy,” she threw over her shoulder as she headed for the inside of the house.

Clarke pretended not to hear him call her name, instead letting the glass door shut with finality behind her.

* * *

**_v._ **

“Shit,” Octavia muttered, ducking her head. “My brother’s here.”

Clarke tensed and resisted the urge to turn towards the door. Though she couldn’t see him, immediately her spine tingled with the awareness that he was in the bar. It was a good thing that Maya and Harper were there to ask Octavia why that was a problem. She wasn’t sure she could have managed it in the moment.

Octavia explained, “He doesn’t know I have a fake, and he’s gonna have a fit if he sees me here.”

The Factory was hot and crowded, but even so, Clarke had no doubt he would spot them soon.

Maya cocked her head. “He knows you drink, right?”

“Yeah, but he’d prefer if I didn’t risk it in public. Normally he’d just take me home, but he’s been so pissy since breaking up with Gina that I wouldn’t put it past him tonight to make a scene.”

It took Clarke a minute to sort through Octavia’s panicked, annoyed tone, but when the words registered-- _since breaking up with Gina_ \--she felt a wash of cold run through her.

“Shit, shit, shit, I’ve gotta leave,” Octavia muttered, then downed her drink.

Harper hummed in sympathy. “We can go back to my room. I’ve got some wine around somewhere.”

Maya agreed, and they both gulped at their own drinks in solidarity. Clarke, however, didn’t bring her glass to her lips, her traitorous mind too busy making up excuses to stay behind.

She had no business wanting to remain, to seek him out and assess how brokenhearted he was. She had no business imaging it was his fingers getting her off most nights instead of her own, either, yet she still did that too. So instead of closing her tab at the bar like the other three girls, she hung back.

“Sorry,” she said when they turned to her in question. “I’m supposed to be meeting Raven here.”

They didn’t seem to find anything amiss, but Clarke’s heart pounded guiltily in her chest at the lie regardless. With quick goodbyes, they were soon slipping out the door, and she was alone.

Soon enough, though, she was wandering through the crowd, trying to appear aimless even though she knew exactly where her feet were leading her.

“Looking for someone?” She called out when she was right behind him.

Bellamy spun around, startled. He looked her up and down quickly, and suddenly she was very glad she had opted for the short floral dress instead of her usual jeans and t-shirt tonight.

“Miller’s late,” he explained. “You?”

She could’ve told him the truth, that she had been here with friends. Instead, she said, “Got stood up.”

He swallowed tightly, then nodded. “That’s shitty.”

Clarke shrugged, her pulse racing as she tempered the lie by elaborating, “I’ve stood Raven up for drinks before too, so I think she’ll understand. I’m betting she’s, uh, _with_ Wells and so I’m willing to let it go.”

Her chest swelled with something hot and hopeful when a flicker of relief crossed his face. “So you sticking around?”

She bit her lip, not missing the way his focus dipped to her mouth at the motion. “Maybe.”

Someone bumped into her from behind, and then she was suddenly up against him, half drenched from her now spilled drink, the other half overly warm from the way he felt so fucking _good_ against her curves and skin.

“I’ll get you a replacement,” he murmured in her ear before she jerked away, face hot.

Barely managing a nod, she felt her stomach clench pleasantly from the way he squeezed her hip in farewell. As soon as he was gone, though, doubts crept in. Clarke watched his expression tense when the bartender with brown curls and a pretty smile--just like Gina--asked for his order. Suddenly, with painful clarity, she saw tonight going in a very different direction that she had naively imagined.

They’d go back to his room, strip each other down, get each other off. She would leave in the dark, early hours of the morning, because that was what you did after a one night stand. She was just someone he could rebound with, and that realization slashed through her tortuously like a dull blade to the gut because that was not what she wanted at _all_ (she wanted so _so_ much more with him).

Her breaths started coming in more shallow, and suddenly her eyes stung, hot and wet. Panicking, she twisted around, feeling trapped by the buzzed and raucous crowd. With force, she pushed between groups of friends and couples, fleeing towards the back and the door to the alley behind the bar.

Bursting outside, she felt immediately relief from the cool air on her heated skin and the solitude that eased the anxious pressure in her chest. After a few deep breaths, she backed up against the outer wall of the bar. The cool roughness of the bricks felt good on her back, and she focused her attention on the sensation instead of the turmoil inside her.

She jumped when the door opened, and Bellamy appeared, brow furrowed.

“You alright?” He demanded, stepping towards her.

In his black t-shirt and jeans, he was right _there_ , right there in front of her, but it still felt like he was slipping right through her fingers. So Clarke, not knowing how else to hold onto him, flew towards him, fisting her hands in his shirt and pulling him forward into a bruising kiss. Bellamy made a noise of surprise, but when she expertly coaxed his mouth open with her tongue, it turned into a groan. His hands grabbed her hips, arching them into his. She took the opportunity to wrap one arm over his shoulder and slide her other up so she could run her fingers through his curls. Insistently, she walked him backwards, turning him until he hit the wall. Springing up on her toes, she pressed herself tighter against him. Even as she made the kiss hotter, wetter, deeper--she could feel his hardness now, and heat pooled between her own thighs--he still managed to pull back after a minute.

“Clarke,” he rasped out, dropping his head back against the wall. “What--”

She ignored him, moving her mouth down to suck on his pulse point. Satisfaction thrummed through her at the responding sound he made and the way his fingers dug harshly, wantonly into her hip and ass.

Immediately she nosed aside his collar, skimming his collarbone with her lips as her hands slid down to shirt hem, seeking the skin and hard lines of muscle underneath.

“Clarke, wait,” he insisted, his grip loosening when her fingers started to play with his pants button. She made a noise of descent, her hands seeking more purchase but with a heaving breath, Bellamy managed to push her away.

“What the hell was that?” He panted.

“You didn’t like it?” She asked archly. She ignored her own breathlessness and the foreboding feeling growing at the base of her neck.

“Fuck that was--” he paused running his hand through his hair in frustration. “That was incredible and you know it. But--”

“But what?”

He frowned at her sharpening tone. “I’m not doing this with you in a back alley.”

“Doing what?”

“What’s wrong with you?” He asked with a tinge of disbelief and confusion. “You’re--”

“--good enough for a fuck, just not one in an alley?” Clarke finished snappishly for him.

“Clarke,” he warned, eyes growing stormy. “What the hell is going on?”

“Thought this was what you wanted,” she challenged.

“Did you even ask what I wanted?” He retorted, voice rough.

The lie came to her quickly--too quickly. “What if this was what _I_ wanted?”

Something sharp flashed across his face, but it was soon replaced with anger. “I don’t fuck in public.”

“Disappointing,” she sneered, looking down to straighten her dress and hair to hide the shine of gathering tears in her eyes. “Guess you’re not who I thought you were after all.”

Before Bellamy could stop her, she stormed back into the bar, this time glad for the crush of tipsy patrons. By the time she heard the back door open and close again behind her, she was well on her way to the front exit. There was no way he’d reach her in time, and as soon as she stumbled out the door, she took off running.

The tears spilled over about halfway back to her dorm. Luckily she ran into no one she knew in the halls, and strangers paid her no mind. It was a college campus after all; a crying girl in a pretty dress wasn’t at all an odd sight to see on a weekend night.

As she crawled into bed, her head and her heart were both throbbing in pain. They were done, really done, this time, and the worst part of it was, she realized, that it was her own damn fault.

Clarke started crying harder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come cry with/yell at me on [tumblr](http://kay-emm-gee.tumblr.com) :)


	4. cause if you wanna keep me, you gotta love me harder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing like a little Saturday morning conversation and sex to tie up loose ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last part! Inspired by "Love Me Harder"

It was Saturday morning a little past nine, and the knocking on her door continued. Clarke groaned into her pillow, burrowing further under her comforter. Wells was the only one of her friends who would be up this early on a weekend, but he knew better than to come get her for brunch before ten.

When the knocking continued, she grumbled and climbed out of bed. After wrangling her hair into a high messy bun, she threw on some sweatpants, wiped the smeared mascara from under her eyes, and shuffled toward the door. Flipping the lock, she cracked it open and nearly slammed it shut again.

Bellamy was standing there, wide awake and staring seriously at her. He was wearing a hooded sweatshirt and had two to-go coffees in his hand.

“Let me in, Clarke,” he sighed when he saw the door waver a little more closed. When she hesitated, his expression softened and in a quiet voice, he added, “Please.”

Swallowing tightly, she stepped back and obliged. As he moved inside, she wished her dorm room floor wasn’t covered in clothes and books and stray papers. Junior year was getting to her, but she didn’t like it to be quite so apparent, especially to him and especially after her meltdown last night that he witnessed. She crossed her arms over her chest as she silently watched him nudge her desk chair over to half-face the bed. Bellamy sat, then extended one of the coffees towards her.

“Drink,” he encouraged.

Warily, she took a sip, expecting regular back. Instead, caramel sweetness flooded her mouth.

“How did you know?” Clarke blurted.

He smiled briefly at her. “Like you didn’t have one of those sitting on your desk every day last spring.”

The fact that he had been looking at her enough to know what order had been scrawled on the side of her daily coffee shocked her into silence and maybe even a little bit of willingness to hear him out this morning. Still, she stayed silent as she sipped. It was a little hard not to remember the last time he was here, and how there had been so much less distance, and baggage, between them then. The warmth of the drink slowly woke her up more, keeping her in the current moment, and she felt herself relaxing.

When Bellamy leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees and coffee clutched between his large hands, though, she couldn’t help but feel wary again.

“We’ve got to talk,” he announced firmly.

She opened her mouth to retort _about what?_ but the knowing look he sent her stopped her.

“I’m not doing this again,” he continued. “I’m not letting you--either of us--ignore whatever is going on here.”

“But it worked out so well before,” she commented dryly. It earned her another flash of a smile. Then he was serious again, in an almost tired sort of way.

“What happened last night?”

The sweetness turned cloying in her mouth as panic set in. “Would you believe me if I said I didn’t know?”

His mouth pursed. “What do you _think_ it was, then?”

She took another sip of her coffee to avoid answering, and Bellamy sighed, leaning back. He didn’t say anything else; he just waited, patient but clearly resolved as well. After two more gulps of caffeine to bolster her, Clarke answered him.

“I was scared.” It was painful to say it, like the tug of band-aid adhesive coming off skin or a needle sinking into arm muscle. “I just--you were looking for a rebound last night and that’s not what I--”

“And when did you decide what I wanted?”

She narrowed her gaze at him, and he raised his hands in apology for interrupting. Taking a deep breath, she continued, “You just broke up with Gina recently, yeah? You were dating for a few months, and it seemed like you lo--you were serious about her. What else was I supposed to think you wanted from me last night? It wasn’t like our first time together was more than a hook up. You fucking left that morning and then ignored me since! I just figured you were keeping to a pattern.”

“You didn’t ask last night, though. You just assumed.”

“And you weren’t being very clear,” she snapped. “Last night or our other night.”

He glowered for a moment, then closed his eyes and nodded. “Alright. Okay. I could’ve been clearer.”

“I could’ve asked,” she admitted. “But really, can you tell me you _didn’t_ want to rebound last night?”

It was Bellamy’s turn to take a sip of coffee to delay answering. Just like he had done to her, though, she used silence to draw out an answer.

“Would you believe me if I said I didn’t know?” He finally answered in a wry tone, echoing her words from earlier.

Clarke couldn’t help a small smile in response. “So what do you want now?”

“Not a rebound.”

Her pulse stuttered, and her stomach dropped. This was it; this was where it ended.

Then Bellamy straightened in the chair, though, setting his coffee on her desk. “I’m looking for a little something more than that. With you. To be clear.”

Her lips parted in surprise. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” Even he seemed a little taken aback by the admission, judging from the way he didn’t say much more, just stared at her, a little dazed. It made Clarke laugh a little bit, and he cocked an eyebrow at her.

“Did you just figure that out this morning?” She asked.

“Maybe.”

He chuckled at his own obtuseness, and she joined in. As reality set in again, though, she sobered. They still had a lot to talk about, and when she said as much, he agreed. So she walked to the bed, climbed up facing him, and folded her legs underneath herself. While they talked--about how he _was_ just coming out of a breakup, how she wasn’t the best at communicating, how he wanted to make sure she was comfortable dating someone so much older than her, how she needed him to be okay with dating someone who was bi--she sipped her caramel latte slowly. It was long gone by the time they finished, and her stomach rumbled, needing something more than sugar and caffeine.

“Wanna go out? The Early Bird won’t be too busy, probably,” Bellamy offered.

She smiled. It wasn’t how she pictured their first date, but greasy diner food sounded amazing right then. Quickly she got off the bed, but he stood up at the same time, and suddenly, they were just a breath away from each other. Blood rushed to her cheeks, and her head tipped up instinctively. As she looked up at him, she saw his jaw clench and his lids lower.

“It probably won’t be busy for lunch either,” she murmured, her hand reaching out to brush his.

His voice dropped low, making her shiver and want, as he replied, “Good point.”

They both moved slow, a hesitant coming together until their lips finally brushed. Clarke leaned into him, letting her head tip back as he claimed her mouth. Up on her toes she went so she could wrap her arms around his neck; his went right around her middle, his hands palming her back. The pressure and feel of his fingers set her skin alight with tingling warmth. When her lips parted and Bellamy licked into her, her heart skipped a beat happily, readily. His sweatshirt was soft under her palms as she ran her hands down his chest, reaching for the hem. Smoothly she helped him tug it off. Clarke smiled when he reappeared, hair tousled and eyes glinting playfully.

With a quick tug on her hair elastic, he was suddenly sending her tangled waves cascading down to her shoulders.

“Fair’s fair,” he said with a grin.

She laughed and then tugged him closer, backing up until her legs hit the bed frame. Instead of going for another kiss, though, she merely burrowed her face into his chest, breathing him in. He smelled of sleep and detergent, and it was wonderful. His fingers slid under the band of her sweatpants at her hips, circling around and lower until he was cupping her ass. Gently, he pressed her hips into him, and her breath hitched at the pressure the bulge in his jeans put on the apex of her thighs.

They stayed there for a moment, paused and enjoying the building anticipation, until his hands moved higher, catching the bottom of her shirt to strip it off her. She obliged, feeling satisfied at the way his eyes darkened at seeing her in the black bralette she had put on to sleep in.

His fingers traced over the lace, and she had to hold back a shudder when his thumbs brushed lightly over her nipples.

“You gonna just look?” She teased, but her voice was a little too breathy for her liking.

He chuckled, low and deep. “I’m just appreciating who’s in front of me. Trust me, I’m going to do something about it soon.”

Clarke let her shoulders roll back a little bit, pressing her breast into his hand. “Sooner, please.”

That drew a real laugh from him, but it cut off suddenly when she jerked him forward by his belt loops. With a gruff rumble in the back of his throat, Bellamy gripped her ribcage and kissed her with the fervor she was dying for. It was slow but rough, and she gave as good as she got. Slickness pooled between her thighs when she bit his lip and he groaned, the sound making her even more greedy. Breaking away with a ragged breath, Clarke scrambled to get his shirt off. The rest of their clothes soon followed, and then he was lowering her onto the bed, cradled in between her parted legs.

She arched up with a moan when he pressed hot and wet kisses down her neck, her sternum, then right on the top of her breasts. His tongue laved her nipples, and when his teeth scraped them lightly, she felt something tight and hot sear down her middle right to the heat between her legs.

“Shit,” she hissed at he kept at it. “You’re as good at this as I remember.”

His breath was warm and humid on her sensitized skin as he laughed. “Good to know I live up to your hype.”

Clarke tipped her chin down to look him. He was smiling up at her through a mess of curls, and her heart turned over with fondness in her chest. “More than live up to it,” she murmured, running a hand through his hair.

Expression softening, he pressed a kiss right over her heart. She closed her eyes as he traced fingers lightly against her sides. Goosebumps swept up her arms, and she breathed in sharply when he started pressing languid kisses, along with the occasional soft nip, down her navel. Soon enough his mouth was on her sex, and her hands fisted into the sheets as he sucked and licked and drove her far beyond wild. Needy noises left her lips involuntarily, and she could feel him smile in satisfaction against her.

“Fuck,” she panted. “Bellamy, I need--”

He lifted his mouth off to listen, and she nearly whined in protest. “You need?”

“More,” she pleaded, staring at the ceiling as her flesh throbbed and sung with want. “More, please.”

He huffed a laugh against her wetness then moved up to press a damp kiss to the skin between her hipbones. It was too high, and she bucked her hips in protest.

“Patience,” he taunted. “Patience, Clarke.”

She made a sharp, disapproving noise, and he just laughed again. Clarke was about to pull him back up when he shifted and suddenly swiped a finger lightly up her slit. He did it again, two fingers this time, with more force but slower. Something in her began to unravel, quickening when Bellamy pressed his thumb against her clit. As he rubbed lazy, firm circles there, his mouth traveled over inner thighs. She reached a hand up to push against the headboard slats, bracing herself as she canted her hips against his touch.

“You like that,” he murmured, biting and then sucking at her skin. There was no question in his voice, because he knew. He knew what he was doing to her, and he relished it, and it set her insides on fire.

“Just remember,” she breathed as he began to stroke her with his other fingers too, “that payback is a bitch.”

“I’m counting on that,” he teased.

As she succumbed further to the sensations of his hands, he kept up his steady pace. Clarke whined when he slid a finger, quickly followed by another, into her. Again, he pumped slowly at first, his thumb keeping constant circular pressure on her clit, but as she writhed under him, he picked up the pace. She broke out into a grin when his mouth replaced his thumb, the suction the pleasant sort of pain right over her sensitized nub. Whatever came undone in her earlier began to wind up again, and she removed her hand from his hair to knead her breasts, plucking and tweaking her nipples to help push herself over the edge.

Bellamy must have glanced up and seen her, because he hummed in approval, then crooked his fingers deep inside her. She let out a broken cry that had him repeating the move, and then with a few more strokes and the press of his tongue, the tight thread inside her snapped and she came, long and slow, numbness flooding her from center to edges followed by waves of heat as he coaxed her down from the high.

As he kissed his way up her sated body, he left trails of her own arousal on her skin. She could taste it as he ghosted his lips over her mouth, lazy and languid. Clarke felt boneless and was about ready to sink into the mattress but then she felt his cock hard and hot against her still-pulsing heat and she smiled into his kiss.

He groaned when she wrapped her hand around him demandingly, stroking and twisting with a quickness that seemed to undo him the same way his deliberate slowness undid her. Involuntarily, his hips thrusted into her hand and he groaned out her name twice, three times.

“Fuck, Clarke, you gotta--”

She cut him off with a rough kiss. “I don’t ‘gotta’ do anything,” she insisted, loving the way his eyes flashed at her challenging tone. He kissed her again, she tugged once more, and then she knew.

A beat later, they moved in tandem: his hips moving back, her hand reaching for the condoms in her desk drawer. As soon as she handed it off and Bellamy covered himself, he was back on top of her, chests pressed together as he slid into her roughly but easily. He began to thrust and she wrapped her legs around his waist, her moans mixing with his grunts as they finally stopped chasing each other and instead chased pleasure with one another.

Clarke felt hot waves building inside of her again, and when he fisted his hand in her hair, tilting her head so he could plunder her mouth, they grew into a riptide of a force. One arm around his middle, holding him close, she snaked her other hand in between them, rubbing furiously on her clit to cause the break and crash. With his name on her lips, she came again, hard and fast, breaking apart under him, around him, full of him.

A few snaps of his hips later, Bellamy reached his own peak, groaning out her name just once, long and low, as his back bowed and he pulsed into her. Clarke didn’t mind the way he collapsed onto her afterwards. Feeling him everywhere against her was the most potent reminder that he was here, that he was hers, and not just for this moment. His heated skin was slightly slick against hers, and his breath tickled her neck as he panted against her. Idly, she traced light circles on his back with her fingers until he finally lifted off to dispose of the condom.

When he climbed back into her bed, he pulled her half on top of him. Strong arms encircled her, and she pressed her nose into his chest, breathing in the mixed scents of their sweat and spent arousal. Bellamy’s hand rubbed her side from ribcage to thigh over and over again as they both basked in the afterglow.

It was only when her stomach rumbled that they realized how late it had gotten.

“Hungry?” He asked knowingly, eyes twinkling.

“As much as I hate to leave this bed, yeah, I’m really hungry.”

He chuckled, pressed kissed to her forehead, and said, “Takeout would solve that problem.”

With a delighted smile, she nodded against his chest. Still, it took her another ten minutes and three more protests from her stomach before she mustered up the will to leave his embrace. As soon as she hung up the order from her favorite sandwich place, she burrowed back into his side, not missing the way he sighed happily at her return.

When the delivery arrived, they missed the first two calls because Bellamy had his hands in her hair and Clarke had her mouth around his dick, making him pant out her name over and over again, because as she had said, payback was a bitch.

By the third call, she was climbing up his body with a satisfied grin as he answered the phone, voice rough and eyes glazed over. Clarke laughed into his neck as she pressed kisses there, and when he hung up, he swore and flipped her over with a soft glare.

“You’re really fucking unfair,” he muttered.

“And you’re really fucking unreal,” she countered, heart flipping when she saw his eyes light up with delight.

“Back at you,” he whispered before dropping down to steal a kiss that had her wishing they had waited a little bit longer to place their order.

In the end, they had to wait another hour for the delivery person to circle back with their order since he got tired of waiting outside her dorm. Clarke wasn’t too disappointed, however, because they put that hour to good use. And as she settled back into Bellamy’s arms when they finally got their food, she realized they had so very many hours ahead of them that would no doubt be even better used.

With that thought, she pressed a kiss to his shoulder, heart full and certain of him, of them, and she smiled, because that felt pretty damn good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come find me on [tumblr](http://kay-emm-gee.tumblr.com)!


End file.
